


Courtship Rituals

by Krisser__kris



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-19
Updated: 2002-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krisser__kris/pseuds/Krisser__kris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan sets out to woo a mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courtship Rituals

**Courtship Rituals**

**by Krisser**

 

Duncan MacLeod smiled as he received his final FedEx delivery. It had taken four months to procure the ancient texts that he needed. Now he could finally contact the Old Man.

All he had was an email addy, but that was better than nothing. He powered up his computer and accessed the internet and composed his email.

_To: OldMan@unonet.com  
From: ClanMan@worldwide.com_

_Old Man_

_Have come into the possession of 4 very old texts. 2 estimated over 1000 and 1 is a 400 yr. old journal in an older form of Gaelic than I can read. NeedHelp. Will pay all expenses. Have beer. Sausalito, Calif. 415-642-3424._

_Mac_

The Highlander was glad that the electronic transmission couldn’t transmit his accelerated heartrate or his nervous anticipation.

Now he had to wait and finalize his plans. The last couple of years had been tough and challenged a lot he held dear. They had also forced him to reevaluate all aspects of himself. He‘d come to the conclusion that he did not want to be a participant in the game, but he would not cower or run away, either. He had also come to realize though, that he didn’t need to live in the heart of immortal pathways.

He sold the dojo and bought a small house atop a hill outside of Sausalito, California. The Scot had found a club for Joe and helped him move. His old watcher wasn’t getting any younger and he knew that he would stay the duration with Joe.

A good friendship was worth the effort. Which brought his thoughts to Methos.

A friendship he wanted for the rest of time. A friendship he was hoping he could fill out into a relationship. He wasn't sure it would be allowed, but he was willing to try.

Their road had been rocky but the connection persisted. In the last year he had learned that he wasn’t willing to give it, or him, up. The why had puzzled him for a time.

The complexities of the man dazzled him, frightened him, enthralled him. What he was sure about was that his life had seemed incomplete without the acerbic old man by his side. 

He had to mend the strained friendship. He had to non-verbally assure the old immortal that he wouldn’t be subjected to the transitory acceptance of the past.

Duncan MacLeod planned a wooing of the older immortal.

He figured the way to Methos was through Adam Pierson, linguist and translator. He had hunted down four old and rare texts that he hoped would lure the ancient out of whatever hermitage he had holed up in. 

He hoped that Pierson’s curiosity would be peaked enough to come out of his exile. He suspected that Dawson knew where the ex-watcher was, but he hadn’t pressed, fearing the Old Man would go underground completely.

Now, hopefully, he would get the chance with Methos.

Duncan glanced at his email account, not really expecting to see anything, but disappointed nonetheless. Afraid that he would spend the rest of the afternoon waiting, he headed to the store to stock up on beer. The microbreweries of the area were fabulous and he was sure Adam would be pleased.

\-----------

Methos parked his jeep across the street from MacLeod’s place. He could see by the vehicle in the driveway that the Highlander was home.

After receiving the email from Duncan yesterday, the old immortal couldn’t believe how quickly he got things in order for a prolonged absence. He hadn’t answered the email, instead flying over, ready to knock on the door.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he answered, the Highlander could have changed his mind. This was the first direct contact since O’Roarke and the older immortal was willing to accept any overture.

He had missed the Highlander.

Even he hadn’t realized how much until he had seen the email address.

There was a connection between them he couldn’t deny. A thousand years with Kronos and he hadn’t felt as connected as he had in a half hour with Duncan. 

The five millennia plus immortal couldn’t believe that such an infant in years could own his heart. He had managed to protect it for five thousand years and then a Scottish Boy Scout whispered his name and all was lost. He knew that he would willingly abandon his way of life for the man. 

Methos knew that this was as true as wanting his next breath. In a moment of quiet honesty, the old man had come to accept that no one had ever claimed his heart the way Duncan MacLeod had. Methos laid his head on the steering wheel and banged his head against it. Here he was, yet again, subjecting himself to inevitable pain. But he couldn’t stay away, not if the Highlander needed him. 

He had to bury all that, MacLeod wasn’t ready for that type of commitment. He may never be, at least, not with him. If he could salvage the friendship he would make himself content with that. 

MacLeod hadn’t picked up on that, small things the old immortal could be grateful for. 

He shook himself from his musings and exited the vehicle to cross the street. Methos felt the Presence signature of Duncan MacLeod. He sauntered up the walkway.

The door opened before he could knock, the ancient quipped, “Translators ‘R’ Us.”

“Methos!” Duncan’s delight evident in his voice. MacLeod stepped back to welcome his visitor in. “You got the email,” he stated the obvious trying to contain his joy. 

“Old habits are hard to break. I’d be delighted to work with the texts.” Methos answered the original email query then added, “What kind of beer?” He smiled at his host.

After closing the door, Duncan took the bag from Methos’ hand. He entered his bedroom and placed the bag on his bed. He had emptied his dresser for the ancient’s use. It was important to the Scot that his friend didn’t feel as though placement of his possessions was an afterthought. He crossed the threshold and stood there, watching Methos. 

Duncan couldn’t help staring, the sight before his eyes had been sorely missed. He knew the man was a mixture of Methos, a five thousand year ancient and a contemporary man, Adam Pierson. Adam had been a university student until recently when he had finally attained his doctorate. One of many that he had secured in his life, Duncan was sure. With crystal clarity, he realized beyond all doubt that the man in front of him was the number one priority in his life. He sighed as an odd contentment filled him with that realization.

\-------

Curiosity at the kind of house that the Highlander would choose had Methos investigating on his own. He noted the small dining room area with its round oak table, but what caught his eye was through the French doors on the other side.

It could have been a small solarium, or a very large breakfast nook, but the Highlander had created a training salle. The enclosed glass room had mats on the floor, a rack that housed his various swords and another set of French doors that led to the enclosed backyard. The large shrubs allowed light into the salle but kept away prying eyes.

He heard Duncan come up behind him and turned to his host, “You spar often?”

The Scot shook his head in the negative. “No, just my daily routine after my morning run. Which is why, this time, you get the bedroom and I have taken the couch. I won’t disturb you so early and this area gets too much morning light. This way you can sleep until you’re ready to get up. I foresee you staying up late once you began working on the texts.”

Methos’ half smile accompanied his single nod of acceptance.

The Highlander was going out of his way to be the good host and the old immortal was going to accept all the Scot needed to give. Evidently, he was still part of Clan MacLeod and would be treated accordingly.

“This other room is the library/study and the texts are in there. The light is much better in there. I figured you’d want to see them right away, if just for curiosity’s sake.” Duncan led his guest to the other room. “I’ll fix us some lunch as you assuage your curiosity.” He smiled as he pointed to the desk and watched as the book lover approached the publications after a quick look around.

It would have made a small bedroom but worked just fine as a reading room. The walls were lined with shelves, not all were filled and a desk stood in the middle of the room. Lamps on either side of the desk assured the good lighting Mac had spoken of. There was also a big, overstuffed chair perfect for reading long hours in. A book lover’s dream room.

Methos let his fingers brush the aged volume that rested on top. His voice was hushed as he spoke, “Mac, this is magnificent. It’s in such good shape…” The question of how was implied.

Duncan smiled at the delight on the older immortal’s face. “It was part of an Abbey’s collection. It was just unearthed a year ago. It wasn’t wanted by the museum curator because the monk had a predilection for some racy material.” MacLeod delivered the last with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Methos laughed. “Their loss.” He turned back to the text. As he heard the Scot leave the room he sang out, “I hear there is lots of beer in this place.”

The Highlander’s laugh floated back at him.

Duncan brought in the beer along with a large sandwich and watched as the scholar ate absently as he turned the pages. MacLeod was elated. Methos was here and his interest was piqued. 

Pleased, the Highlander went back out to the kitchen and planned out what he was going to make for dinner.

Later, Duncan found he wasn’t upset at being ignored for the last three hours, in fact in an odd way, flattered. There had to be a high level of trust to be so singularly focused on a book with another immortal so close. Said immortal’s sword wasn’t even close. It was near the front door.

Methos turned toward Duncan as he entered the room. “Mac, this is amazing, this volume is closer to two thousand years old. The culture is described with crisp images of that time period. Extremely accurate, too, I can attest to that.” The ancient immortal smiled one of his half smiles. 

Duncan could tell the memories were bittersweet. To pull him back, the Highlander suggested, “Let’s take a beer outside. The sunset is particularly nice this time of year.”

The slender man stretched his back, arms locked high above his head, “Good idea.” He got up and followed the Scot to the kitchen.

Duncan held open the refrigerator door to let the beer connoisseur choose his own.

Methos raised his brow, “Rob a brewery?” He reached for one he hadn’t had before.

“This area is know for its micro-breweries. I thought we could try them all.” Duncan shrugged like it was no big deal. He led the way through the salle to the backyard. 

They sat on a grassy knoll, sipping the beer and watching the sun set below the horizon. The need for words was unnecessary and they both enjoyed the companionable silence. It was something they both missed and both needed.

Dinner was a shrimp pasta that Mac knew his friend liked. Conversation was light and easy, seemed both men wanted to stay away from controversial topics on the first night. 

After they finished clean up for the meal, Mac handed Methos the remote. “Reception is so bad that a dish was the only way to get anything. So, I figured that I might as well get the whole package. You can choose whatever movie you want to watch.” Duncan shrugged as though he was apologizing for the complex set-up.

“You are the only person I know that would be apologetic for being connected to the outside world.” Methos smiled as he started flicking through the variety of channels. He stopped when he found a French film that he knew Duncan would enjoy, too.

\----------

Methos woke leisurely and stretched as he glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock. He pulled on sweats and made his way to the kitchen. He froze midway as he caught sight of Duncan going through his complex set of katas. The muscled body gleamed with the sweat as it moved gracefully through the routine. 

The old immortal forced himself to continue on to the kitchen. With coffee in hand, he could sit at the table and watch without being obvious about it. But damn, if that man wasn’t gorgeous. 

With years of practice to call upon, Methos watched and indulged in a little dreaming. He imagined that the glistening body was in that condition because it had been pressed up against his. He had driven the Highlander insane with want and he had pounced. Yes, that was the ticket, he drove the Scot over the edge instead of the way it had always been, that he, himself, was the one that needed the cold showers.

Duncan finished his workout. He wiped the sweat from his face before joining his friend at the table. Methos had poured another cup of coffee when Duncan had finished his routine.

“Do you have everything you need to work out the translations?” Duncan asked as he sipped the warm liquid.

“Yes, I do. The programs you loaded are excellent. Anything else, I can download,” the older immortal replied. “I haven’t really looked at the other texts. I was so absorbed in this older work. It could be a long translation. Is there a time frame for these?” He asked casually, wanting to know how long the hospitality was to last without asking directly.

“The old Gaelic one I hope to take to Scotland next year. So that one is the only one with a time frame. The other works have been requested by the Huntington Library in Southern California and a museum in New York would take anything. I figure you can best decide what can go where, depending on what they’re about.” Duncan made direct eye contact before he continued. “I hope you will stay here for the duration. You are doing me a great favor, your room and board are very little in repayment.”

“Thanks, Mac. Though, it is hard to think of burying myself in the old texts as real work,” Methos told Duncan honestly.

Duncan beamed a smile across the table. He had some time.

\--------

Dr. Pierson found he wanted to read the complete work before he sat down to compile a written translation. The detailed descriptions of the day to day life were vivid and transported him back in time. It was a hard time, but there were a few quiet moments that he was glad to remember. 

The day passed pleasantly, he ate lunch without remembering how the food came to be in his hand. He had coffee and water all the day, again without noticing how it got there.

He was lost in time.

Duncan stood at the door to the little library and watched the consummate scholar absorb the written words. He must need a break, and Duncan needed some time with him. He spoke aloud, “You’ve been curled up with that manuscript for hours. What a horrid host I am. How about dinner and a gallery preview to refresh yourself?”

A stomach rumble reminded Methos that it had been a long while since lunch. He looked up at his host with a half smile, “Gallery?”

“I was given tickets because I donated a few objects. I would kind of like to see how they’re being displayed.” Duncan wanted it to sound casual.

The older immortal grimaced slightly, “A suit?” He didn’t feel like dressing up.

“Nice casual would work fine,” Duncan replied, sensing that formal wear was out.

Methos nodded, “Fine. Let me finish this page.”

A half-hour later, Duncan knocked on the library door. Methos looked up surprised at the time passage.

The Highlander’s slacks, sweater and jacket looked anything but casual on the good looking man, but then an old tee and holy jeans would have looked just as good on that body. The immortal hurried to change.

They went to a small bistro known for their beer. Duncan kept the conversation light, sharing stories of Joe’s move to the new blues club.

Mellowed by the food and beer, the ancient immortal’s sarcasm was absent from the night’s discussion. He had missed this most, the special camaraderie they shared together. Something he couldn’t remember sharing with any other, mortal or immortal.

The gallery took them closer to San Francisco, but the traffic was light and the drive was pleasant.

It wasn’t a large metropolitan gallery, but a smaller more intimate one. The exhibit was about art and weaponry. Methos wandered, pleasantly surprised at the broad variety of beautiful weapons. Mac had, of course, understated his contribution. Seven swords that spanned three hundred years were displayed in their own glass case. 

The museum owner was delighted with Duncan’s appearance. He guided both Mac and Methos through the entire exhibit. He finally excused himself when another contributor showed up.

Methos found himself glad that their host had left them to their own devices. Mac guided him to the ancient weapons side with hand placed on his back. It rested there while Duncan pointed something out before they moved on to the next display. Odd how natural it felt.

He broke into his own thoughts to contribute to the conversation, “The older weaponry has the beauty with function. Most of the current weapons are very functional but contain little or no aesthetic value."

“War became a business,” Duncan observed.

“War has always been a business. Someone will always make money on the problems of others. But back when the weapons were handmade, the creator couldn’t help but add something of themself to it. Most are mass produced today.”

“I guess that is what catches my eye, the workmanship. I’ve favored Japanese swords for that very reason.” Mac agreed with his companion.

Forty-five minutes later, both were ready to leave. As Duncan held the door, he suggested, “Coffee before heading back?”

Methos agreed. Even though he hadn’t seen signs of a MacLeod brood, he figured that his Highlander was working off an imposed guilt. Who was he to thwart him? He’d just enjoy cementing this new version of their friendship.

After arriving back at the house, Duncan pulled out a couple of beers and followed his ancient scholar into the library. Methos accepted the beverage with thanks.

Curious, MacLeod asked, “What was the curator so upset about? Have you run across anything interesting?” He sat on the edge of the desk.

“The author, though he became a monk eventually, was never celibate, before or after. He had a variety of relationships and I use that term lightly, and a variety of partners.”

“Oh, I see why the abbey museum were none to anxious to add this work to their monastery collection,” Duncan laughed.

Methos shared a few of the moments, laughter at the ribald escapades followed soon after.

Mac reached out and squeezed his friend’s shoulder as he stood up. “Don’t stay up too late.” Duncan smiled at the amused snort he received as an answer.

Duncan readied himself for bed but found he wasn’t quite tired enough to sleep. He grabbed the book he had been reading earlier and settled down on the couch.

\--------

Methos finished the monk’s account of life and closed the book. He could begin the translation tomorrow. He looked forward to a few discussions he would be having with the Highlander on interpreting.

As he closed the door behind him, he noticed Mac still had his light on. He walked into his line of sight to say good night only to find him fast asleep, book hanging half off the couch.

The older immortal placed the book on the coffee table, pulled up the covers and turned off the light with an indulgent smile upon his face. 

\--------

They drove to San Francisco, as the linguist needed a reference book housed there.

Methos broached the question of his translation quandary. “Mac, in a few places, the monk’s account of the time is very inaccurate. It was an attempt to make himself look good. I’m wanting to change it to the more factual events.” He waited for the Boy Scout to talk him out of it.

“How many people in the world can translate the monk’s journal?” MacLeod asked instead.

“Word for word? Probably about seventeen.”

“And would any of them have reason to doubt your translation?” Duncan continued.

Methos shook his head, “Probably not,” not sure where the Highlander was headed. “I’ve published several papers, even before my doctorate.” It was a matter-of-fact tone not a prideful one.

“Then why worry? Any who will read will read the translated text and the accuracy of the time period won’t be lost, just a few inflated tales.”

Methos nodded, stunned. No recrimination of ethics, his Boy Scout had surprised him again.

They lunched on the Embarcadero. Drove down Lombard Street and rode the Cable Cars. Mac’s exhilaration carried Methos into the adventure of the day. Mac parked at the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge and they walked across. At the north end they stopped at the overlook before they prepared to walk back.

Two ladies stopped and flirted outrageously with the pair. 

Methos watched as MacLeod charmed them into a ride back across the bridge. But for all his graciousness, he hadn’t flirted back in a serious manner. The older immortal found he felt an odd relief that the Highlander wasn’t looking for a diversion. 

The hand at his back as he was guided back to Mac’s vehicle went along way to settling his mood.

That evening, Mac grilled steaks as Methos fixed a salad. They played backgammon and chess. Mac felt a grand contentment at the smile that Methos had given him before bed.

\-------

Over the course of the next three days, Methos translated by day and was wined and dined by night, only he didn’t know that. Mac had courtesy passes to several different restaurants with time limits, or so Methos was led to believe. So, he accompanied the Highlander on his excursions into the culinary treats. 

Dinner was followed by a movie one night, a private library showing another and bowling. MacLeod dragged his friend, Methos, to a bowling alley. After much whining and complaining, the old immortal beat the pants off the Scot. He was very prideful about that.

The following morning, Duncan asked Methos if he wanted to spar. It was the first time during his stay that he asked and the old immortal did not turn him down.

“It does well to keep one’s hand in,” Methos confessed as he wiped his sword.

“Yes, it’s one of the prices for being immortal.” Duncan nodded regretfully, then they began a routine they had perfected years ago. 

They tested the old and tried the new, neither vying for the victory. A good workout that had both men sweating profusely. That was Methos eventual downfall, he was distracted by the glistening chest and lost his concentration momentarily. Duncan won and the older immortal was unable to verbalize a good reason.

Methos spent the rest of the day caught up in the second text. A Greek work well over a thousand years old. After a quiet dinner he holed up again with the text. Duncan smiled the entire evening.

Next morning found Duncan up early going for his run before his katas. He had lots of sexual energy that he wanted to redirect. This time with Methos had only confirmed this pursuit. He didn’t want to imagine eternity without him.

He was reading at the kitchen table when Methos stumbled in. “Morning, Methos.” Duncan grinned, as it was almost noon. “What time did you actually get to bed?”

The linguist smiled as he took the offered cup of coffee. “Five a.m. The Greek work spoke of some folks I knew and I was making notations on how to make some parts more truthful.” The scholar’s eyes grew large and sparkled in his excitement.

“Well, today is Thursday, but for us it will be Sunday. We’ll treat it like a holiday. I’m thinking the seashore. We haven’t been yet and by going today, we avoid the weekend crowds.” Duncan suggested with the body language that said it was a done deal.

Part of Methos just wanted to continue with his work, but the other more vocal part of his mind thought, Duncan…beach, couldn’t be all that bad. “Okay, what do you have in mind.”

“A picnic, a walk, backgammon, the surf.” Mac was grinning like a kid.

Methos nodded, finding it hard not to get caught by the Scot’s enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget your swim trunks or a change of clothes.” MacLeod added as he headed to the shower.

Methos had found the day fun. 

He had dragged a stick behind him as they walked along the shore. He had popped kelp pods, aiming the liquid at Duncan’s legs. They threw an old tennis ball in the waves and raced each other to retrieve it first. Silly things, but fun. 

Methos found some flat rocks and started skimming them. Then he tried it with shells, they wouldn’t travel as far. He finally got Duncan to join him. They counted the number of skips and MacLeod won. The Highlander strutted a bit more prideful on the return walk.

“I let you win,” the older immortal threw out.

“In your dreams, Old Man.” Duncan just laughed.

“I’ll have you know, I dream about a lot better things than that!” Methos huffed, indignant. 

“Such as?” Duncan inquired.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Methos teased.

Mac laughed as he thought to himself that he would really love to know the dreams of the oldest living being.

They went for a swim before they ate. Duncan splashed Methos and the immortal promised revenge. He dove into the waves and disappeared from view. Duncan moved, fearing a sneak attack. He was right, only it came from below. He found himself upended and a mouth full of salt water. He came up coughing and sputtering only to be hit in the face by more water being kicked up by thrashing legs. Said legs connected to a laughing man.

The joyful laugh took years off the usually guarded expression that Methos wore. Duncan allowed the on slot of water to last longer than he would normally put up with just to keep the laughter going. 

For Duncan, this was a very good day.

They ate sandwiches, drank beer, played backgammon. Methos slept while Duncan read. Duncan slept while Methos read. They guarded each other’s backs.  
The old immortal watched the Highlander sleep. He liked this simple life that Mac had taken up. He could get to want it permanently. But who knew better than himself, that a man with his past, couldn’t rely on permanence in his future. But he would take what he could get and right now, it was here in California.

They hadn’t talked of anything serious yet, and Mac wasn’t brooding, but it was there. Or maybe, he just expected it to be. He’d have to get Joe off to one side. But not today, today he’d just wallow in his dream of MacLeod.

Duncan woke and felt Methos’ quickening energy close. He would know it anywhere and he found that comforting. He hadn’t been able to distinguish others apart before. Just Methos. He had wanted to ask if Methos could distinguish his, too, but he hadn’t found the right opportunity.

He had a surprise for tonight, he hoped the Old Man liked it. 

“Have you had enough sun for today, Old Man?” Duncan smiled as he asked.

The lithe man stretched long before turning to face his friend, “This is your best city yet. Lots of warm days, so far. The beach today was yummy, but, I suppose I could be made to leave. What’s on your mind?”

“John, at the museum, had tickets for dinner and now he must go out of town, so he gave them to me. How about it?”

Methos studied the feigned composure; there was something more to this invite. “Just what am I letting myself in for?”

“It’ll be fun.” Duncan looked hopeful.

“Famous last words,” Methos wrinkled his nose as he picked up his towel and book. He folded his chair and looked pointedly at MacLeod, “Well, what’s keeping you? And there had better be beer.”

Duncan picked up the folding chairs as a grin stretched his face ear to ear. “I can promise you alcohol, Methos, never fear.”

Methos didn’t have to fake his surprise as they pulled into the train station. They had driven quite a ways to get to this station and now the Highlander wanted to take the train to another local? He shook his head in confusion.

Duncan wore a smug, satisfied expression.

“You are a little too pleased with yourself, Mac. What is this, just an elaborate ruse to end up where we started?”

“In a way,” was Duncan’s only reply.

Mac’s answer shed less light and Methos watched the smile broaden at his grimace. “A hint would be nice, MacLeod,” came out almost like a whine.

“Three minutes, Old Man. You won’t die of curiosity before then.”

Duncan led them away from the usual boarding area and into a small crowd of nicely dressed people. Methos was suddenly glad that he changed his clothes at the last minute. His suit fit with Mac’s and the rest of the people here.

He had asked Mac and all he had answered was for Methos to dress comfortably.

Duncan went to the small will-call window and gave his name, “MacLeod.”

The clerk handed him two passes. Mac guided Methos over to the mini-bar.

“We have about twenty minutes before boarding, how about a beer?” Mac smiled at the puzzled look that Methos wore.

The old immortal nodded absently as he grabbed the passes and brochure from the Highlander’s hand.

Aloud, he read, “Napa Valley Wine Train. A seven course culinary delight with their accompanying wines.” What a pleasant surprise, the ancient immortal looked up pleased. He turned to Duncan, who handed him a beer bottle.

“Thanks. Duncan, this looks great, thank you.”

Duncan beamed, he loved hearing Methos saying his given name. He didn’t use it often so he treasured the moment.

The music could have been a little more upbeat for Methos, but otherwise, he couldn’t complain. The meal was fabulous. Mac had arranged to have a single table so they didn’t have to make small talk with strangers. The old immortal found he liked having the Scot’s attention all to himself.

They started out with an array of cured meats, cheese and olives with roasted red peppers and artichoke hearts served with a Napa Merlot. After that was cleared the waiters served Pear Meringue with a white zinfandel.

Methos was delighted, it had been many years since he had tasted the Italian treat.

The next course was a chicken broth with asparagus. What made it distinct was the hint of nutmeg and Parmesan cheese. The Petite Sarah complimented the course, but wasn’t Duncan’s favorite, but he was pleased that Methos seemed to be.

The salad with Gorgonzola cheese had the Pinot Noir as its accompaniment. There was a small break and both immortals were glad of it. Duncan excused himself to utilize the facilities. His thoughts filled with Methos, he didn’t notice the multitude of looks he garnered, including Methos’.

The next course turned out to be a favorite of Methos’, grilled Portabello manicotti. Shells filled with Portabello mushrooms and soft Italian cheese.   
Duncan enjoyed the Chardonnay but didn’t finish his glass. Not only did he have the drive back, he was afraid that he would let something slip and he was only half way through his wooing.

The poached salmon with sautéed spinach and mushrooms garnished with caviar was completed with zabaglione with strawberries and was followed by a Chablis and a private toast.

“To a friendship, deep and lasting.”

The sincerity Methos saw in Duncan’s eyes warmed him to his core. It was possible that Bordeaux was finally behind them.

The train pulled back into the station at nine thirty. Methos was stuffed and more than a little inebriated. Duncan loved every minute of it. A slightly unsteady Methos leaned up against Duncan and he held him close to his side as they exited the locomotive. Duncan found contentment in the gesture of trust.

\---------

The next couple of days Methos worked hard on the Greek translation. Mac would bring a sandwich in for him, many beverages throughout the day and made dinner each evening. They’d watch a movie and after, Methos would work some more.

The third night, after they had finished their game of chess, Mac asked out of the blue, “Methos, you’re not tired, are you?”

“Not particularly. What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a meteor shower tonight and the sky is clear. Let’s go down to the beach and watch it?”

Mac seemed so genuinely excited at the prospect, how could he refuse?

“Okay, but no throwing me into the ocean. I’d be miserable if I was cold.”

Duncan smiled, “Okay, Old Man, skinny dipping is out then.”

The old immortal felt at twinge of disappointment even though he knew the Highlander was teasing. That naked body with water dripping…Methos forced his thoughts away from the image.

They grabbed their coats with the hidden swords on their way out the door.

“There are times like this that I really hate the immortal game. It would be so nice to walk along the beach unencumbered.” Duncan’s voice conveyed his intensity.

Methos echoed the sentiment with a soft, “Yeah.”

Mac parked close. Before he locked the car they threw their shoes and socks inside. The two men walked barefoot in the sand. When Mac saw the first streak across the sky, he laid the blanket down on the sand and both followed it down.

The meteors appeared as fast-moving streaks of light in the night sky. Methos mused as they watched, “They are frequently referred to as "falling stars" or "shooting stars." Most are white or blue-white in appearance, although other frequent colors are yellow, orange.”

“You an astronomer at one time?” Duncan asked.

“No, just interested. There was a time in the past folks hid and were sure it was harbinger of doom. How times do change.”

Mac realized that his friend must have seen great changes in the night sky. He asked, “How different is the sky?”

“In retrospect? Way different. Some centuries I spent so much time in the open sky that change was so gradual that I didn’t notice until I was trying to find a constellation. There were times that I traveled between the northern and southern hemispheres and took for granted that the night sky would always be different. The placement is different, but if there is something I need to find, I can just go to another country and find it.” 

“Do you wish?”

“On a falling star? Or the twinkle, twinkle bit?”

“Either, both?”

“Yeah, there have been times.”

Duncan smiled into the night, “Tonight?”

“Maybe,” Methos smiled, “Can’t tell, though.”

After the main show died down, they stood and Duncan shook out the blanket. He folded it and placed it on the sand. “I’ll pick it up on the way back. Let’s walk for a bit?”

Methos nodded and they took off. 

The sand felt cool beneath their feet and at times, if they were too close to the water’s edge they could feel the little sand crabs coming up to feed. Duncan stopped Methos with his hand and pointed out to the breaking waves.

It was like a light show. It looked like thousands of fireflies fluttering throughout the water. Sparks crackling everywhere.

“Bio-luminance.” Methos said into the night.

“So, this night has a lot more than just a thousand eyes,” Duncan whispered aloud. He wished he could see into Methos’ heart. He hoped it was softening towards him.

They walked back to the car, a comfortable silence between them. Just before Methos got in his side he looked up into the sky and made a wish on the last falling star.

\----------

The following evening Duncan surprised the old immortal with tickets to a musical. Duncan was so excited that Methos agreed. He had dreaded an evening of a boring opera and was instead thrilled at the wild, exotic music. STOMP. It had been a percussion show that celebrated the power of rhythm. It had accomplished this by sharing the sheer joy of banging on things. 

Methos pounded lightly on the dash on the drive home. It could have annoyed Mac, but he was so glad to have pleased the old immortal, he was willing to put up with almost anything.

They stopped for coffee on the way back and Mac told Methos that he had to go to San Francisco the following day for business.

He was gone before Methos awoke, but the old immortal found his breakfast waiting for him.

The two immortals had almost been in each other’s pockets for the last several weeks, so Methos was struck dumb when he realized he missed Duncan already. It was only mid morning and Duncan would be gone the entire day. He’d had said it was an unavoidable meeting. The old immortal thought he would enjoy the solitude and get even more work done, but that was not the case. 

Methos put aside his work and went to Joe’s.

The watcher was pleased to see the ancient immortal, “Hey, Adam, great to see you. Where’s your shadow?”

Methos didn’t pretend not to understand Joe’s meaning, “San Francisco.”

“Yeah, that’s right, he’s testifying on a antiques case.” Joe placed a beer in front of his friend. “What’s on the agenda for tonight?” Joe asked, an amused tone to his voice.

“I’m making dinner. Mac has been so good while I worked on the manuscripts, I thought I’d return the favor.” He finished his beer and put the bottle on the bar counter.

Joe watched his friend for a bit, before bending over the cooler. “So, Adam, how long are you gonna milk this?” the watcher asked as he set another beer in front of his friend.

Adam turned his puzzled face to the watcher, “Milk what?”

“The courtship rituals that Mac has been plying you with for the last month or so.”

“No, you misunderstand. Mac is working off his guilt for the judging thing. He wants our friendship back. Only he has a hard time realizing that he never lost it. It was strained, but we have worked passed that.”

Joe snickered, “You’re slipping, Old Man, if you’ve missed these signals.”

Methos shook his head. Joe was way off base. He firmly refused to temp himself with the unattainable. He didn’t reach five thousand without being able to ignore that which would keep his peace of mind. 

Joe chuckled as he changed the subject.

\--------

Mac returned home tired and was surprised by the pleasant aromas that assailed him as he entered. He dropped his carryall on the entry table and headed to the kitchen. 

“Hey, what’s all this?” he asked.

Methos looked up as he recovered the pot. “Dinner.” He smiled at the surprised look on Mac’s face.

“I thought you’d be lost with your reading. This is a nice surprise. What ya make?”

“Spezzattino di Manzo.”

Duncan translated and chuckled, “Stew.”

“Italian beef stew, I’ll have you know.” He grabbed a hot pad and removed the corn bread from the oven. “Sit down, food’s ready.”

Mac washed his hands and hurried to sit at the table. “It looks and smells great.” He gave the chef a wide, genuine smile.

Methos ducked his head as he turned back to the stove, a bit embarrassed by Mac’s enthusiastic appreciation. He watched the Highlander all through dinner, wondering if Joe’s words could have any real merit.

After a game of chess, the linguist went back to his translations no more clear in his thoughts than when he started pondering.

\------

“Come on, day at the beach time. Just lay about soaking up the rays.”

“You’ve picked up on the area vernacular.”

Duncan shrugged, “When in Rome…” He looked over at the linguist and could see he was going to refuse. He didn’t let him get the words out. “No refusing. Bring a reading book if you must. No shop talk, no worries on the beach. Just soak up the sun and kick back.”

“You? Kick back?” was asked incredulously. Methos knew he was being a tad harsh as he caught a hurt look flash across the Highlander’s face. To be honest, Mac had shown major strides in mellow behavior. He gave in. “Okay. Bring plenty of beer.”

Mac packed a lunch, and some snacks. He had a separate cooler for the beverages and a cooler like container to carry their swords. He had enough carry bags to make it look like a campout.

It may have been a California beach, but they were European men and their swim attire said as much. 

Duncan, for one, was glad, he liked looking at the form-fitting trunks that gave him nothing but delicious thoughts. “Swim or relax first? Your choice.” He had the blanket spread out, towels off to the side and the coolers by their heads. Duncan had also brought an umbrella for later when they wanted to read.

Methos kicked his thongs off and plopped down on the blanket, “Just lie here and soak up the warmth.”

“Okay, but with that white skin, you need some sun screen. Roll over to which ever side you want first. Then later, when you’re ready to rollover, I can get that side then.”

Methos recognized a tone within the voice and knew it would be easier to just agree. A hardship it was not. He flipped over to his stomach and murmured, “Fine.”

Duncan straddled the long slender legs. He dropped a handful of lotion into his palm and warmed it up before he applied to Methos’ back. He did more than lightly skim. He kneaded and rubbed all the back muscles.

He took each arm and coated it from shoulder to fingertip. He gently knuckled the hand, both the outside and the palm. He moved from the wrist to the elbow to end up in the armpit. He repeated the same procedure on the other arm. All Methos managed to utter were disjointed sounds that seemed to indicate that he was enjoying it.

Mac moved down to straddle the old man’s feet and worked on his legs. From the thighs to the toes he worked in the sunscreen. 

By the second foot, Methos was a puddle of goo and couldn’t move a muscle on his own. By the finishing touches on his inner thigh, Methos was rock hard. He had no plans on turning over for a while yet. He lay there in a sensual haze and let sleep take him.

Duncan watched with a smile on his face.

\-----

The slice of beach straight down from Duncan’s house was often empty midweek and today was no exception.

When over an hour had passed, Duncan nudged Methos awake and told him to roll over. Not really awake, Methos did as asked.

Duncan warmed the lotion before he started on the legs. He first brushed off the little bit of sand that had stuck to his legs with a towel before he coated them with the sunscreen. He didn’t want to cause any discomfort and have Methos too awake.

He applied the lotion to the calves and knees before working on his thighs. The briefs were tight and he could see a reaction to his touch.

Buoyed by that victory, he warmed more of the lotion and started on the old immortal’s chest. He first covered it so it couldn’t burn. Then massaged it to throw the man off track. When he finished the real application he changed his touch to caresses.

Hi thumb circled the right nipple and it reacted instantly. So with the other hand he repeated the motion around the left nipple. Methos’ eyes were still closed but his cock had hardened. Duncan seduced the skin with light touches and skimming fingernails. He worked in circles away from the hard nipples that were now jutting out.

Mac followed the natural hairline that ran across the belly to the top of the briefs. Without hesitation, he reached out and covered the pronounced erection and squeezed it rhythmically.

The older immortal’s eyes flew open as he gasped out, “Mac?” Confusion colored his voice.

In his seductive voice, Duncan said, “Hush, no one is here. This must be uncomfortable. Let me take care of that for you. Close your eyes and imagine the hands you’d want most.” Duncan had never ceased his rhythmic moves and he could see desire push out most rational thought within the older immortal’s eyes.

Methos closed his eyes, letting his head drop back onto the blanket. Duncan took that as a yes.

Mac laid his chest over Methos’ legs, as he kept the rhythm even but not erotic enough for a climax. When the responsive body beneath arched up for more contact, Duncan pushed back, pulled the briefs down and swallowed the leaking cock in a single swift motion.

Before Methos could utter a complaint or question he was being sucked to within an inch of his life. He was glad he was immortal, for he didn’t think he could have survived otherwise. Rational thought left him and in its wake was only sensation. His climax exploded out of him as Duncan’s name was growled deep in his throat as the last blast was emptied into the waiting mouth.

Sated, the languorous feeling stole through him. Warmed by the sun, Methos fell asleep without a worry in the world.

Duncan gently cleaned off his love, pulled up his trunks and moved off him. He had to clean himself, too. Hearing Methos growl his name in the throes of orgasm had sent him over the edge without a touch to his cock. A feat never before accomplished. 

He watched and guarded his sleeping love.

\----

Methos woke and without opening his eyes he took stock of his surroundings. He remembered where he was and he could find Mac’s Presence close by. Memories of the interlude flooded his thoughts and he needed to sort through it.

Was it the propinquity that had the Highlander amorous? Or was it as Joe suggested, a courtship ritual. Mac had taken nothing, only given.

Methos thought back on the last several weeks, concerts, dinners, movies. Always a good excuse as to why he had the tickets, but they were still timely.

He let his thoughts float out and capture the different moments. The touching stood out upon reflection. Hand at his back, hand resting on his shoulder, these happened many times a day. He realized that all the accidental brushes of their bodies, weren’t.

He also realized, with consideration that Mac had truly acknowledged the past and had moved beyond it.

There was a strange fluttering in his chest, he wanted this too much to accept it without question. They had talked around the subject, but never actually discussing it.

The past weeks, they had just lived. And that was the light bulb.

This was life, their life together. That was what Mac had been trying to show him. Life wasn’t always about drama and adventure and Mac had finally seen that himself. Now, he was showing instead of talking, that the five thousand year old immortal was welcome, needed and wanted in his life.

Hell, Joe was right, he had been courting, out and out wooing and he had missed it. 

He’d have to double check, and if he was right, well, he’d have to send the right signals back. “Missing Amanda?” he asked. 

“No, actually Amanda has never been here. You are the only immortal that has been here. I came because I just needed to work out what I was now wanting from my life. Made some decisions based on those conclusions. Most importantly, I realize I needed you in my life as my friend.”

“Looking at the last two months, a case could be made that a lot more than friendship was hinted at.”

“Too subtle? I wondered if I should have been more obvious about it? Humm…”

“This afternoon was not subtle. That could be considered direct.”

“Well, at least I got something right.” Mac teased, but his face showed doubt.

“Ah, yes, most definitely, you got something right.”

They walked up the hill to the car. 

They drove back in a comfortable silence. Methos headed to shower as soon as they got back, then into the library. He wanted to work on the Gaelic text a while before sorting out all his thoughts.

He flipped through the book and a single sheet fell to the floor. It looked old, but not as old as the rest of the text. The Gaelic was also the more current variety. He translated.

 

_As your eyes rest upon this parchment, know you are beloved._

_At times, the vocal words elude me, so, I try my hand with the written word._

_My heart has been touched, but never owned, until now._

_Whether or not you lay claim to that which is yours, the friendship I hold dear will not change._

_I damaged your trust, if ever I held it. I can only hope to one day secure it._

_My justifications pale in review and can not adequately compensate for the pain I caused._

_I live with the hope that your many years will permit you to make allowances for my youth._

_I judged with just my archaic, inviolable views of honor and took not in account that I judged the dead past and not the living now._

_Unconditional love is what I have to offer you, Methos, until the end of time._

Methos sucked in his breath, never had he received a love letter more exquisite than this. If his heart had not already been conquered by the Highlander, he would have won it with this. 

With letter in hand he walked back into the livingroom. He stared at Duncan. Confronted with what he most wanted he found he was scared.

Feeling the eyes upon him, the Highlander looked up and met Methos’ look with candor. All that he had put in the letter was true and he let his eyes convey those truths.

The mask was gone from Duncan’s face, the old immortal could read all that Duncan felt, could see all the honesty on a face that hid nothing from him. He sucked in his breath for the love there was breathtaking.

Methos needed and wanted permanence. He had been truly alone for so long it was hard to believe what was being offered, a chance at a long commitment, someone to share the centuries with. Someone who knew all he was and would face whatever came up. It was scary and exhilarating; he wanted to flee and stay at the same time, but the most frightening moment in five thousand years came with clarity, he was willing to risk all on this Scottish infant.

He walked all the way in the room and sat next to Duncan on the couch. After a brush of his knuckles across Mac’s cheek he rested his head on Duncan’s shoulder.

“Methos, whatever life throws at us, from the past or our future, I will be at your side. Not because I think I should be, but because I want to be. However long you’ll let me. You call it. You are my beloved, and you own my heart.” Duncan brushed his thumb across his lover’s parted lips, his eyes were mesmerized by the tongue that darted out to wet them. He touched his own to them, lost in the moist heat of Methos’ mouth.

He pulled back to again trace his cheek, eyes and lips with his fingertips. His own eyes followed the path his fingers took. After hearing Methos indrawn breath, Mac placed kisses over the trail his fingers left. The path led him back to the lips and when they parted he explored their depths. 

A hand lying on the doorbell finally penetrated the sensual haze the men had created. Duncan smiled at the bemused look on his beloved’s face. He kissed his nose before going to answer the door.

Methos, the immortal, finally realized that he did believe in miracles, for one was standing before him, a wish come true. This Highlander was indeed his. In all ways, he’d said, unconditionally, for as long as he wished.

Little did the Highland youngster know that this old man could see them together a figure equaling the number of years that he had already lived. The future was looking pretty damn good.

The look in Methos eyes had conveyed more than Mac had ever hoped for and a long life together was looking pretty damn good to him.

Duncan turned and opened the door, he handed Methos the package that had just arrived.

The immortal opened it while he watched his Highlander. He finally looked down and exclaimed in amazement, “Mac, this looks to be very old….do you know what a find this is…” the ancient immortal’s voice faded as he opened the cover.

Duncan paid the FedEx man and closed the door, a bright smile on his face.

fin


End file.
